


Give Thanks

by Rosa_Cotton



Category: Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: Confessions, Drama, F/M, Fitting In, Fluff, Friendship, Good Peter, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Rescue, Romance, Thanksgiving, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, discussions, poor Wendy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 11:52:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2580497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosa_Cotton/pseuds/Rosa_Cotton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amidst preparations for the Thanksgiving feast at the village, Wendy is once again looked down on by the Indian girls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Thanks

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _Peter Pan_ , all characters, places, and related terms belong to J. M. Barrie.

Wendy focuses intensely on her work as she completes the final stitches for the dress. (The atmosphere of strain and heaviness is a great weight on her slim small shoulders.) A tiny sigh of relief escapes her at its completion. Folding the dress and setting it aside, she takes up the unused yarn and works on rolling it up, often stopping to work out the tangles. It is not until the burning in her throat has subsided and her vision is no longer blurry that she trusts herself to speak.

“What are you thankful for, Morning Star?” she attempts to return to the subject she had originally brought up; her tone is soft and calm, for which she is grateful.

The Indian girl to her left glances up, her expression becoming thoughtful. “I’m thankful that at the next full moon I’ll become a squaw,” she answers with a wistful smile.

The other ten Indian girls respond with longing sighs. 

“I’m thankful Peter Pan is now my best friend, not enemy,” Tiger Lily speaks up, pride shinning in her eyes.

Wendy nods and smiles weakly as the rest of the girls murmur quietly, glancing between her and their princess.

Another girl speaks up. “I’m thankful that I can dance.”

More murmurs of approval.

“I’m thankful I can make owl stew. The Great White Feather says it is the best food in the whole world,” claims a different girl.

There is nothing to be done but nod along with the other girls. Wendy refocuses on untangling a particularly large knot in the yarn.

“I’m thankful the sun does not burn my skin like a tomato.”

“Or that I do not have freckles!”

“That I am able to hunt.”

“And can creep through the forest without making a sound!”

Tiger Lily’s dark eyes are pointedly directed towards the red-haired girl (gaze by now burning a hole into the ground, the yarn lying forgotten in still hands) seated across from her. “And I am thankful,” the princess adds, “that Peter Pan likes my stories! He never leaves in the middle of them.” Her smile is triumphant.

It is all silent and still in the circle.

“What are you thankful for, Little Mother?” Morning Star eventually asks. 

There is no way to hide the ever deepening, burning blush spreading all over her face, but Wendy prays she is able to conceal the emotions of humiliation, inadequateness, and worthlessness swirling inside her from making their way onto her face. (And somewhere in the back of her mind, not for the first time, she faintly can hear the mainland, _“Come back, Wendy…”_ ) She is in the act of lifting her head when she hears a whisper (purposely intended for her to hear or not she is unsure).

“What possibly is there to be thankful for?”

Three things happen simultaneously:

Wendy’s head lowers again and, taking advantage of the moment her hair shields her face from view, she swiftly wipe her eyes with her hand, drawing a fortifying breath.

There are a few quiet giggles.

And, seemingly out of thin air, Peter Pan lands in the middle of the circle.

This last event draws shrieks of surprise from the girls. These quickly change to excited greetings and fights to succeed in being the one the Great White Feather sits beside. 

The magical boy’s greeting is as it usually is, but there is an unfamiliar steely light in his eyes as they sweep the circle, softening only when they rest on Wendy who has been silent through everything. In two long strides Peter reaches her and seats himself down, his shoulder bumping against hers.

Startled, Wendy jerks and she turns to find him regarding her quizzically. She had not expected him at all to come over here, and she blushes anew, certain she must look a mess. The girls may not see just how their comments affect her, but Peter has the uncanny and unpredictable ability to read her like an open book at times, and she has the sinking suspicion this is one of those moments. She attempts to give him a bright smile. The questioning expression on his face vanishes as his eyes flash like lightening and he presses his mouth into a hard line before he looks about at the others, causing their shoulders again to bump.

“What are you doing?” his tone is cool, gaze steely once more.

The Indian girls exchange glances, aware of the Great White Feather’s odd mood. Tiger Lily ends up being the brave one, naturally.

“We were sharing what we are thankful for while finishing preparing for the Thanksgiving feast tomorrow,” she explains, holding up the dress she is embroidering with beads.

The boy’s gaze flicker over the dresses with disinterest as they in turn are held up for him to see.

“Great White Feather, do you have anything you are thankful for?” one girl ventures to ask. 

Peter’s gaze turns thoughtful for a moment, and then he faces Wendy, making her jump a second time in surprise. He gazes (hazel pools melting once more, twinkling) steadily into her eyes and it feels like the rest of the world falls away. She holds her breath in nervous anticipation. 

“I am thankful for Wendy being my Mother,” he says with a gentle smile lacking any cockiness. 

Wendy’s gasp is echoed as she stares, stunned, at the now grinning boy. 

“Surely you knew, Wendy,” his voice brims over with light teasing. 

Dumbly her head shakes back and forth. She watches his eyes sweep over her face – sunburn, freckles, and all. “Even though I can not cook owl stew?” she blurts out before she can stop herself.

The boy scrunches up his nose. “I rather you did not. Do not want you to get burned like that again,” he murmurs with a troubled frown. Taking her left hand in his he turns it over and slowly runs his thumb over her palm. 

“Thank you, Peter,” Wendy says in a near whisper. Some of the clouds lift from the boy’s face, and the girl sighs in relief. “And I am thankful you are Father,” she admits.

A loud joyful crow fills the air as Peter lifts into air. Throwing his head back, another crow flies through the island. A delighted laugh escapes the girl, her expression between bemusement and pleasure as she watches him float slowly back down to earth. The smile he gives her is full of happiness and…something else she cannot identify. But it suddenly causes her to duck her head shyly and she will ponder over it for many nights. When he rests a hand on her shoulder she discovers him kneeling beside her, “Wendy-lady” filling the space between them before he leans forward to gently thimble her on the cheek.

 

THE END


End file.
